The Blackwater Inn
The Blackwater Inn - A tale of the Mercenari Sanguinose Major Henri didn't need this. He ached, he was tired. He was sure he could hear barroom songs, which was irritating him. He eyed the nervous Lieutenant in front of him and sighed. "So let me get this straight. We finally broke through this towns meagre defences. We cleared the streets of enemy forces and breached the citadel in twelve hours. Now you're telling me that a full twelve hours later you have lost almost three hundred men to resistance in a tavern?" "Uhm, yessir. Stiff resistance sir. We, uh, did send runners sir." Henri wanted to swear. But he was painfully aware that he hadn't bothered to come down earlier, choosing to believe that the resistance would be crushed almost as easily as the rest of the town. "You're heavy dragoons man! Some of the finest men in this army! Surely some farm hands can't keep you at bay this long!" "They aren't, uhm farm hands sir. From what we can tell it's almost a hundred Mercenari Sanguinose troops. Sir." Ah, Mercenari Sanguinose. Henri remembered that there had been around a hundred fighting in defence of the town. He'd never heard of such a small company before though. He knew they'd inflicted heavy casualties, but thought they had been wiped out in the push. "Lieutenant I know it may be blatantly obvious. But walk me through how they ended up in there. Now it looked like he wasn't going to get chewed out, the Lieutenant relaxed a little. "Well sir, when we broke through and formed up a big push they held out for an age. We'd fought with a company before so we knew they'd be tough. We engaged them from the front to keep their attention, then once the townsfolk broke we double timed a company behind them so they couldn't retreat. Buggers fought their way into the sturdiest building they could, and we couldn't budge them." Henri looked at the tavern. Stone, so impossible to burn down. Small windows. If they knew what they were doing, a group could hold this place. Given a long weapon like a halberd it'd be even easier to defend. No wonder the dragoons had trouble. Even so, surviving several attacks and inflicting three hundred fatalities was impressive. If only they'd stop with that bloody singing. "Ok Lieutenant, let me talk to them. Keep your men here until I say otherwise." He approached the tavern, stopping a fair distance away to appear less of a threat before he announced himself. "You've held out a good long while. The town has surrendered. I wish to discuss peaceful terms with whomever is in charge here! You will not be harmed!" The singing stopped. There was a scraping as whatever barricaded the door was removed. Then a man stepped out. He wore a breastplate and mail skirt over a ridiculous slashed outfit of greens reds and yellows. He was smiling, under his wife brimmed red hat, and carrying a tankard of ale. Henri bristled, he couldn't remember when he had last tasted proper ale and here the mercenary was flaunting it! "I am Lord Henri Alphonse Talbot. Major of the 3rd Lauthan dragoons." "That's nice for you. I'm Sergeant Lucien Vizzini." The man took a swig of his tankard. Henri's mouth began to water. "We do have a captain in there. But his defence group are sitting down and he said he'd be damned if he let a parlay ruin his pint. He send his apologies and allowed me to negotiate on his behalf." Henri wanted to punch the man. But he needed a faster solution than more fighting. "The town has surrendered. Burgomaster Holt has been executed. We'll allow your group free passage out of the town to save further bloodshed. Is the entire company in there, or are there others in the city that will give me problems later?" "A nice offer. We must have been a pain for you. You'll be glad to know that there's nobody else. We're just detached from a regiment. We were all Burgomaster Holt could afford. Man was allowed to skip the half down deposit too, Colonel must have owed him a favour. Thing is," Vizzini sucked his teeth, "if our contracted is dead we get no payment. Now I can't go back and tell the lads we don't get paid. So we want a day to finish emptying the bar, they have some good stuff in there." Henri almost snapped. "Do you mean to tell me you expect us to pay you in beer to stop fighting us?" "Ah, no," Vizzinis jovial tone turned more menacing, "I'm telling you we are dug in. We've proven we can hold this tavern and we're offering you a chance to not lose any more people while we take our payment in beer. We want 24 hours. Your choice soldier boy, but I think you want every person you can get to take the next town up the river." Henri sighed. The mercenary was right, as much as he hated it he needed every soul. He'd just have to take the insult for the good of the war. "Very well," he spat, "you leave at midday tomorrow." "Much obliged sir!" Vizinni grinned, handing over his tankard "here, looks like you could use it. I have more in the bar." Stunned, Henri watched him go. Then beckoned his sergeant "I want a sizable post here. I want eyes on that tavern all night. They always stick to a deal but we need to be sure. They have free passage at midday tomorrow. If they don't leave we'll get the siege engineers involved. Have them on standby." "Very good sir." Henri left. Still aching. Now, at least, he could afford some sleep. He had walked nearly two streets before he realized he was still holding the tankard. "Bloody mercenaries" he sighed, before draining it.